Not In This Life
by LeatherLaces
Summary: Discontinued for the time being. May be continued later :-)
1. Chapter 1

The Capital Wasteland. It's a harsh life. A living hell, some would say.

The desert itself isn't so bad, even with the immediate danger of dehydration or starving to death. No. The creatures that roam this Wasteland can be dealt with, assuming you carry the firepower. Giant Ants, Radscorpions, Yao Guais, Vicious Dogs and so on….. They all bleed and die when you shoot at them. No. It's not so bad at all. What makes it all bad? It's the people. Human beings descending into a primal state of existence, desperate to survive their own day-to-day war, scavenging and hunting. And they're not only hunting animals, mind you.

Yeah, it's the people.

They're not all bad of course, but it's important to remember that everyone has their own battles to fight, and no one, _no one_, has the time or goodwill to be unselfishly helpful. I figured it would be best to stay away from most people, so that I wouldn't find myself in a situation where I owed anyone anything.

Sometimes though, I'd seek out the company of a sleazy barkeeper, a trader or a doctor. It's necessary, since I'm not that good a nurse myself, and, let's face it; humans are pack animals. We need the occasional socialization.

Not to mention the mind-numbing effects of alcohol.

It has become a nice little routine of mine. I travel around for some weeks, maybe more if I'm lucky and hit a well-packed stash of supplies. After a while, I gather my stuff and head back to a settlement, trading away whatever valuable I don't need for anything that's actually useful. Maybe get patched up a little, and then I hit the bottle. _Hard_.

I usually don't drink when I travel. Makes me vulnerable and unfocused, and could cost me my life, or worse; my freedom. Besides, addiction is another thing that's very, very wrong about the wastes. People go crazy when they're fighting for their next fix. And there's no such thing as rehab. A doctor could fix you up though, I should know, cause I've been there myself many times. But it'll cost you a lot of caps. Lost counts on how many times I've stumbled into Doc Church's office in Megaton hooked up on meds and wounded almost beyond repair. But hey, what's the alternative? Like I said, I'm no good doctor myself, and when you're out there being shot at, a quick fix with some meds might just keep you live long enough to get help. Those meds are strong though, and an addiction is just waiting around the corner.

I'm not ashamed to say it. I'll do anything to stay alive, and so would anyone else out here in the Wasteland.

Alive, has become a twisted definition. I've read pre-war books about people who live for a purpose. People who stay alive for a very good reason, whether it is freedom-fighters, politicians, human rights activists and so on… People who made a difference in this world, made changes and cast out massive waves of progress. They all had a purpose with their lives, a reason to _live._ Now, after the war.. It's more about keeping your heart beating and your backpack well-equipped.

I'm 20 years old, and you might think that's young. Not out here it isn't. Don't know what the average life expectancy is, but I've been battling for my right to live since birth. There are lots of old people around though, but they're still alive for a very good reason. Some are lucky enough to grow up in vaults, others in one of the few safe cities, like Megaton or Rivet City, and some again have fought very hard. The last ones surely got the scars to prove it.

Don't ever underestimate an old guy's stories as petty boasting.

I didn't grow up in a vault, neither in a city. No, I grew up wandering the wastes with my dad. Or, he wasn't not really my dad. More like a caretaker. He was my hero, even with all the shit he put me through. He taught me how to survive. How to stay _alive_. I owe him my life countless of times. Probably the only debt I got.

Erich used to be a soldier out in the west until something bad happened and he left. Think he was someone of importance, cause he sure had the knowhow and wits about him, and a deeply rooted sense of justice. But he got his morale all mixed up after a while, like we all do. Guess he was already a broken man when he found me under that bush almost 20 years ago.

Yes, my mother left me there.

Abandoned.

No one knows of her, or where she took off to. All we know is that I was barely a month old and had a braided leather strap tied around my neck. Erich found me by accident, and he stayed with me for some days, in case my mother decided to show up.

Obviously she didn't.

He used to say that taking me with him was the most difficult choice he ever had to make, cause he knew I would be a liability and slow him down. I remember as a child, Erich roughly patting my head and whispering that I was the cutest little thing he ever saw, and he hated my guts for it.

Really, Erich hated me sometimes with terrifying intensity. Still he loved me to death. It must've been hard on him, the old soldier, to take care of a baby girl. How was he supposed to know that a baby needs clean water, food and…. well, clean underwear? Not to mention that a child grows and need clothing. How was he suppose to know that a child needs a hug every once in a while? He raised me practicing the Wasteland tough-love law, meaning that the earlier I learned to take care of myself, the better it would be for both of us. If something were to happen to him, I needed to be independent.

Erich had to teach me everything – reading, writing, using a map, how to shoot, how to spot a raider from a distance, how to get food and cook it, how to patch myself up and how to fight. Sometimes he taught by beating, but the lesson stuck and he taught me well.

He called it toughening.

It's only the first 17 000 times that hurts.

I looked up to him and used to think he knew everything, that he was my hero and my best friend.

Called him 'dad' on good days.

We had a one-week agreement. If he weren't back in our little shack within a week, I was suppose to grab our getaway supplies and head for the nearest city; Big Town. We knew of Little Lamplight of course, and Erich had contemplated leaving me there many times, and every time decided against it. Big Town wasn't a safe town, but our plan was that I'd follow one of the roaming traders from there to Megaton.

And one day that was exactly what happened.

Erich never came back from a scavenging trip to the DC ruins. I stayed for eleven days, terrified that he'd come back and still find me there, doing the very opposite of what our plan was. Eventually I left. It wasn't so hard to leave as I thought it would be, but still to this day, I miss my dad very much, the old bastard.

I always knew I would die in battle. The only thing I hoped for was a quick death. A bullet to the head or something like that. Hell, I'd overdose on meds just to avoid a painful death, if I knew for certain that I would die. I'm afraid of dying in pain, but one thing I'm more afraid of, is _not_ dying in pain. You'd be surprised how much a person can withstand without dying.

I knew this situation would take a painful turn...

And it was the beginning of a life I had fought so hard to avoid…..

_Pain_, was just a small and insignificant description. I hate them, but I'll die for them if I have to.


	2. Chapter 2

I knelt on the floor inside a ruined old church, with my head bowed down and my hands tied on my back, and then tied to the rope around my feet. _Not_ a situation I was very familiar with. It's happened before, but then there was raiders, or slavers. Not super mutants. Not five super mutants. Gotta admit I was a little worried at the time, and the five bags of mutilated human organs weren't exactly helping on my nerves.

While I looked down, searching the scarred concrete for answers, a miracle or something, I listened to them talk. Their guttural voices and amputated language barely understandable, but I understood enough. I didn't dare to look at them out of fear of attracting their attention, so I kept searching the floor for answers to my silent prayers.

_Dear, God. I hate you so much right now…._

Two of them walked around outside while they spoke to each other. I could hear the words 'captive' and 'more', and then something about 'going home'. I had no idea what they meant by home. Did these guys even have a home, or were they talking about some sort of base in the DC ruins? I'd heard rumors of a place in the ruins were they're holding up, like they're looking for something, or attracted to something in the area. A different part of the very same rumor was that they turned humans into mutants, to create an army. This very thought made my spine shiver, like someone just poured out burning, ice cold liquid on my back. Earlier, they just killed and gutted everyone. Still do. But sometimes they take captives, and it seems random who gets peppered with bullets and who gets a rope tied around their necks.

I'd encountered mutants before, and killed a few. They're fairly easy to avoid if you're not looking for trouble. They're loud and clumsy, which makes it impossible for them to sneak up on anyone, or hide for that matter. If one tried, he (or she, you can't really tell them apart) would probably trip and stumble over his own feet, knocking over anything that might find itself in his way and make one hell of a mess. Something as simple as breathing is impossible to do quietly for these guys. Their retracted noses are barely visible, and their lips seem gone, making their faces twisted into a permanent sneer. Ugly, that's what they are. Their footsteps can be heard a mile away, the heavy thumping of a beast measuring about 98 inches (the smallest ones) is distinctive, especially when it's accompanied by hoarse breathing and the occasional grunt or chattering teeth.

So then, what makes these beasts so powerful that most of the humans fear them with despair?

Mutants are well trained and disciplined creatures, even though mostly dumb. First of all, it's their physical strength. Did I mention their height? Imagine that combined with proportions of enormous bulging muscles. Their physique is lethal. Their common stupidity makes them even more dangerous, as they don't seem to feel fear or terror the same way you and I do. And let's not forget about the guns. Yep, some of these guys carry the big ones. I'd recommend anyone to stay out of harm's way.

One other thing that makes them so powerful is numbers, and the Capital it basically crawling with them. If one of them spots you, you can be damn sure 20 others are chasing your ass in no time. They never travel alone.

These super mutants, my captors, also had a centaur with them. A disfigured creature, stupid as hell, but sickeningly devoted to its masters. I could see its tongue flap around through the broken window, and disgusted horror for my own future practically overwhelmed me.

If I weren't already on my knees, I'd probably fall over out of mere fright.

One of the mutants seemed to be a leader of sorts. He was bigger, had some armor and carried a minigun. He spoke to the others in a more clear language, and seemed, if not intelligent, then at least less stupid.

Why did I get captured?

I was heading south west, on my way to Megaton when I got tangled up in one of their traps. Hadn't slept for days, or eaten for that sake. The tripwire was easy to get out of, of course, but what I didn't know was that five mutants were heading my way. All they had to do was knock me out and drag me away.

Embarrassed by my own stupidity I bowed my head lower, angry at myself and the fact that I have survived this long on my own, and now I'd be taken out like this. Taken because I didn't pay attention to my surroundings and flat out just forgotten to use my senses. I'd managed to break Eric's number one rule; Watch and listen.

I was tired. Hadn't found any safe places to rest, and I didn't want to be surprised by an attack in my sleep. I sleep fairly light however, but roaming the wasteland, you never can be too careful. Now I realized that my plan about getting to Megaton as quickly as possible was a silly and inexperienced decision. Something only a novice scavenger would do. Although I'd run out on most of my ammo, food and water, I should've taken the time to make sure of my own safety. At least taken the time to rest and sleep. My heels and toes were probably peeled clear of skin, and my pants had made me very sore in a very intimate place. And, I needed a bath. Desperately. Leaning forward on the floor of the church, I could smell my own, sour stench. It was sickening, but also a precaution.

Raiders usually think twice about 'having fun' with you if you reek worse than they do.

My silent self-loathing was harshly interrupted when the brute mutant came inside. My thoughts stopped dead and I looked up, only to meet his glare from across the room. My eyes narrowed, unable to contain my repulsion for these creatures. Disgust and hatred.

He breathed heavy, the setting sun gave his skin a more acid looking shimmer. "We leave now," he grunted to one of the others, before taking his eyes of me and exited the ruined old church again.

The super mutant guarding me responded with a sniff, and bent over to cut my legs free.

"Stand," he ordered, and simply hauled me to my feet. Apparently, they weren't patient creatures.

With a hard push from his hand on my back, I started walking with stumbling steps out the entrance of the church.

It's pretty amazing how the survival instinct can make you forget one ongoing pain and replace it with mere numbness out of fear for another pain. I tried to ignore my aching feet, since I probably wouldn't be worth much to them if I fell down, unable to walk. Don't know what they would do to me if that happened. Kill me? Pepper me with bullets or bludgeon me to death? Honestly, I didn't care to find out, and this very thought kept me standing. It kept me walking, between them, with two of them behind me and the minigun brute ahead of me. The Centaur and the last one scouted around the area.

Unwillingly I had to acknowledge the fact that these guys probably offered the best protection I could get in my current state of uselessness. They took care of two attacking yao guais, and one very big rad scorpion without even making an effort. It soothed my nerves, but only a little. The future looked like it bring a radical proportion of pain and suffering that would make me wish I'd be ripped to pieces by a deathclaw instead, or died of severe poisoning after being stabbed several times in the chest by a rad scorpion. None the less, I preferred to stay alive for the time being.

I'd already noticed we weren't headed towards DC. That was both reassuring and frightening at the same time. Reassuring because it meant I wouldn't have to face a swarm of mutants, just yet. Frightening because it meant I was less likely to be rescued. The DC is Brotherhood territory, and they've been known to kill mutants and release their captives. In the Wasteland there weren't many 'friendly faces', and the few people we might encounter wouldn't carry the guns, armor or numbers to be able to anything but avoid us.

My eyes scanned our surroundings while we walked. The mutants weren't very perceptive beings out in the open. I don't know if it has something to do with their vision, hearing or simply just intelligence. For all I know, they're too stupid to even think that there might be something hidden beyond their line of sight.

I however, had noticed someone was watching us from time to time. Someone hid between the rocks and bushes far away, but was still close enough for me to take notice. It was a muffled sound that didn't belong, or a small movement that wouldn't come from an animal. I knew the sounds of the wildlife in the Wastes. I also knew that any animal would attack on sight, same as any feral ghoul would. This wasn't animals or ghouls. They had to be people, and there was more than one. I easily out ruled the possibility that it might be scavengers. They usually travel alone, like me. Brotherhood Outcasts were more likely to barge on and shoot the mutants, not sneak around in the bushes. I knew most of the routes the roaming traders used, and this wasn't one of them. As far as I could tell, that only left me with two options on who our followers might be. Raiders, or slavers from Paradise Falls.

I shivered a little in the cold air, still keeping my eyes fixated into the night.

Slavers wouldn't attack a pack of mutants unprovoked, as they had nothing to gain from that, unless they were looking for unnecessary trouble and losses. The raiders however, were stupid enough to try. They'll attack anything, as long as they think there is something to gain from the attack. This could be guns and ammo, other weapons, meds, caps, alcohol, food or the fucking clothes on your back. They're greedy and desperate, along with heavy addictions to meds, and will probably shoot you dead over a bag of chips. Some raiders have even turned to cannibalism, and will keep you alive for as long as possible while they amputate one part of your body at the time. To keep the meat 'fresh', as they say.

The mutants walked with slow strides, seemingly not in a hurry, or maybe to accommodate the pace of their centaur. It wiggled itself forward like a clumsy snail that tries to catch the sun. This speed was friendly to my legs since I didn't have to strain myself too much to keep up, and thus saving my energy. It also gave me the time I needed to continuously scan the area for possible escapes, preferably not right into the arms of our observers. The hood on my scavenger hat blocked my peripheral vision a little, so I kept my gaze forward, looking for something familiar, something to tell me exactly where we were and to guide me in my search for a getaway opening. Maybe I could throw myself off a cliff or into a river. I'd gladly do that, if it got me away from these monsters that had me bound and captive.

While I was looking for an exit, I noticed we were heading towards the old Police Headquarters not far from Big Town. Germantown Police HQ I think it's called. Never been there before, and as the place seemed to be full of more of these fucks I'd wisely avoided it. After all, I consider myself pretty tough, but not on the border of insanity. This place could be very bad news, and I could weakly recall a rumor I'd heard the traders talk about. The mutants stationed here were supposedly using Big Town as a harvesting ground for more human prey.

I froze and halted my steps. The second part of this rumor was that slavers had troubled Big Town recently.

"Walk," the mutant behind me ordered while roughly shoving me forward, making me stumble and fall to my knees. Unable to catch myself I landed flat on my side.

If the rumors was true, it could very well be slavers following us.

The entire procession halted and the minigun brute turned towards me with loud and annoyed grunts. The sight of his minigun, held at the ready by his hips, the very cold glare, the nudge in my back from one of the mutants behind me and the thought about where we were heading. It all collided in my consciousness like a building storm. I wailed and scrambled to get up on my knees, more difficult than you'd think with your arms bound to the back and an increasing sense of panic.

Maybe they'd waited for this break, an opportunity to make their move when the mutants had their attention towards me, and not scouting around the area. Looking between the mutant's legs, I could make out fast movement in the darkness, and then the distinct sound of a sniper rifle being fired.

The minigun brute stumbled forward, yelling and gargling, as the bullet clearly had missed its target slightly and hit him in the neck.

And then…

Hell broke loose.

The minigun fired rapidly to the ground, around me and towards the other mutants while the brute struggled to regain his foothold. I rolled quickly away from him and came to a halt behind the other mutants, straightening my back to look around and gain some view of the situation unfolding around me.

I'd been wrong about one thing. This weren't slavers. It was raiders. As far as I could tell, there was seven of them. They came running down the hill, screaming and firing their guns towards us. The mutants drew their weapons, assault rifles and nail boards, and started running towards their attackers. I saw the centaur go down, its flapping tongue in spasms as it fell, and I saw the brute fire his minigun.

There was no distinguishable sound in the commotion, other than screaming human men, growling and yelling mutants, and gunfire. A lot of gunfire. The raiders lost men, and one super mutant went down.

I scrambled around, trying to get some distance between me and the fight. Finally, I sat up and was able to draw a hidden knife I kept at my ankle inside my boot. Shortly after, the ropes were cut off and I back-crawled a little further.

A weapon. I needed a weapon. The mutants had robbed me of everything except the hidden knife. I searched the battle ground in front of me with my eyes, but weren't able to locate my backpack anywhere. One more mutant went down, and a new kind of fear took place in my body as I spotted the raider that had taken him out.

_What the fuck_…

It was Forty. One of Jones' men, from Paradise Falls.

It was officially my cue to leave.

Unable to believe this sick coincidence, I got to my feet and started running the same moment a mutant with a nail board started to lash out on the man. I turned, and ran like the devil himself was chasing my heels. Weapon or no weapon, it didn't matter. All I could think of in my clouded state of panic was to cover as much ground as humanly possible between the slavers and myself. The mutants would lose the battle, that much I'd already realized. I also realized that it was certainly not in my best interest to hang around afterwards.

So, like a scared little rabbit, I ran.

Oh, by the way, I've never actually seen a rabbit. I think they're extinct.

I fell, I tumbled down a hill, crashed through bushes and ignored the fact that I'd probably sprained my ankle and had cuts all over my exposed flesh. My feet didn't even hurt anymore. All I could feel was the ferocious pounding in my ribcage, like it was my heart that ran and my body trying to catch up. I flew by animals, got chased by them, but didn't have the time to stop and get rid of them. Eventually they gave up the hunt and disappeared. I climbed up a cliff faster than I'd ever think myself capable of, and stumbled and fell into a rolling motion on my way down on the other side.

Unthinking, feral with angst and the opportunity to escape, I got up and kept running.

I didn't stop until my foot got stuck between a couple of rocks and I came to a sudden and unpleasant halt that knocked all air out of me. After smashing face forward into the dirt, I gasped and sat up.

My breathing was fast, labored and uneven, my hands shook, and the blood pumping through my veins into my head felt like painful thunder in my ears. My vision blurred like lightening, and I suddenly realized that if I didn't stop running, I'd probably die of heart failure right there. Not bothering to tear my foot loose, I rolled over and just breathed, trying to regain control over my pulse.

It took me a while, but eventually my pulse reached a normal level. Unfortunately, the pain from all my cuts, bruises and bones came sneaking up on me as well. I started to hurt, everywhere. I could feel how my muscles had been screaming for oxygen, as they started to swell and twist. My body shivered uncontrollably, and I had to battle myself to be able to sit up.

After tearing my foot from the rocks I'd clumsily stepped into, I concluded that it didn't seem to be broken. Unfortunately my left arm hadn't been that lucky. It probably happened when I caught myself in one of the many falls during my sprint. Testing it, I tried to twist my hand, and immediately a shock of stinging pain shot through my wrist.

"Perfect," I mumbled quietly with a grimace. This meant that I'd be vulnerable and unable to defend myself properly. I couldn't keep running blinded by fear. With a heavy sigh, I scanned the area I was in. I knew where I was, and if I took it easy from now on, I could maybe, just maybe be able to hide away in case Forty and the raiders showed up. And maybe I could be able to get to Megaton without too many more damages.

This situation required some thinking, and I desperately required some healing rest. Gathering what was left of my strength and willpower, I got myself up in a standing position. The first thing I needed to find was a safe place to stay. Slowly and with a limp, clutching my broken arm to my chest, I moved towards some cliffs not too far away. They would give me cover while I planned my next move.

•

It must've been a pretty pathetic sight that met Stockholm's eyes when he three days later howled down and ordered the gates to Megaton opened.

I was messy, dirty, bloody and in all ways brutally exhausted. But I was alive. And that was all that mattered to me. Almost felt sorry for Doc Church, who welcomed me into his clinic by covering his mouth and nose.

"My goodness girl, have you been living in a dumping ground for mirelurks?" I didn't bother to respond. I knew very well that I reeked and probably had a brownish, stinking cloud around me. To his credit, Doc Church actually made an effort not to vomit when he uncovered his nose to examine me. "Mind telling me what happened?" he asked, after patching me up and injecting me with an unknown amount of stimpaks and other medications.

"The love of The Wasteland happened," I retorted slowly. Doc Church wasn't a particular friendly being, but somehow he seemed to tolerate my presence. Probably because he knew I was good for the caps. I didn't quite trust him though. I knew very well that he worked with slavers before he came here.

"Well, it's a good thing you came. Some of these wounds should've been tended to many days ago." The slightly quizzically expression in his glare didn't move past me.

"Got robbed and lost my backpack, along with my stimpaks."

"Robbed? In The Wasteland?" he laughed a little. "Are you for real? Raiders usually don't rob people. They kill."

"As you may have noticed, I barely made it." I glared at him and felt increasingly annoyed by the man's questions.

"I've seen you worse," he stated simply, before turning away from me.

With a feeling of relief, I watched his back as he left me alone to heal and rest. Couldn't be too careful nowadays, a lesson I had really learned the hard way. The hard way meaning that I seemed to need certain lessons over and over again, until they finally stuck with me. Got the scars to prove them as well.

The doctor allowed me to occupy one of his beds for two days while I recovered. My cuts were healed, and my bruises would eventually disappear. My strained ankle was healed as well, and the broken wrist just ached slightly when I moved it. I felt lucky to have received so little severe damage this time. Ironically, the small damages hurts just as bad as the severe ones. Now, isn't that a fucked up nerve system?

I paid off Doc Church with some caps I had locked away for safekeeping on the third floor in the common house. It was the only room in the house where no one would go, and even though it wasn't actually my room, everyone knew I used it, and they knew better than to piss me off the few times I came to town. After all, I always left behind a good amount of caps when I left.

The first thing I did was to sink into a very much needed and welcomed bath in the women's restroom. The water tingled slightly against my skin. Not unpleasant though, just enough to relax my muscles. My mind kept wandering off to what had happened.

Forty is a slaver, and apparently he's working with raiders. This could only mean that Paradise Falls must've gotten into some sort of agreement with a group of raiders. The thought was unpleasant, but still, the fact that it was slavers who eventually enabled my escape came to me as one of the strangest coincidences I've ever encountered. Although, it weren't exactly a coincidence. How they'd know to find me with the mutants I had no idea, but they had been aiming for me, that much I knew. Not to kill me. Oh, no. Eulogy Jones wouldn't want me to go out from this world without a fitting punishment. I had, after all, humiliated him in front of his entire crew.

After my escape from the mutants, Forty and his men had searched for me while I was in hiding, and eventually they'd seem to lose track of me. I'd kept to the hills, hiding among rocks and cliffs for as long as I could. I saw them a couple of times, wandering around aimlessly in their search, and now that I was safely tucked in a bathtub in Megaton, the malicious part of me laughed at their confusion when my tracks simply just vanished. It felt good to have escaped them yet another time. Good, and at the same time I felt worried.

Now, they didn't actually chase me around. At least that wasn't the impression I had. I think they were just on the lookout, in case I was stupid enough to cross their paths.

And that thought led me to another thought… My mind clouded as I contemplated how sloppy I'd been to be captured in the first place. One of the down-sides about being on your own in the Wastes is that there's no one there to cover your ass. I've managed just fine without it. Until now….

I allowed myself to soak, leaning back and ducking my head under water in an attempt to wash away some bad memories and the personal reverie I found myself in. My hair was greasy and messy, and the water felt deliciously soothing against my scalp. I have a habit of scratching it when it becomes sweaty and dirty. With my fingertips, I massaged my head, working to loosen up dirt and tense muscles. I was so incredibly filthy that I had to change the water in the tub two times before I felt clean enough to show myself outside again. Dressed in a simple pair of clean pants and a tank top, I headed towards Moriarty's Saloon.

Time to get drunk…


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't own Fallout! Bethesta does!**

* * *

"Well well, would you look at that?" Moriarty greeted me with his always sleazcharming smile as I pulled out one of the stools at his bar. "Come to make my day, have 'ya?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, old man," I responded, blinking to him and sitting down.

Moriarty might be a cunning man, able to scam just about anyone for his own benefit. Sadly, I've always been a little weak for him and his accent. He was one of the people who took notice of me when I first arrived at Megaton at age 11. The notice however, turned out to be an interest in keeping me there to work for him when I came into my teens and started to resemble something that could attract more customers. I didn't mind though. He's always been nice to me, ever hopeful and optimistic that I'd someday change my mind. Nova was just 5 years older than me, but she had a damaged and disoriented way about her. She seemed more… aged. I think Moriarty keeps her around just because he can. He's quite sadistic that way, something I recognized the first time I met him. As a result, there's never been a situation where I've owed him anything.

I small talked a little with Moriarty, catching up on the latest news in Megaton, until he had a 'business meeting' in the back and had to leave. Gob, who had been sweeping the floors until now, came to take over the bar. I sat by myself in silence, staring into my whisky, mulling around an idea that started to form in my head. I barely noticed the others, Nova talking with some guy, Billy Creel sitting at the other end of the bar, Lucy West in the corner behind me… They could've been props in a bad movie as far as I was concerned.

The only thing that eventually did catch my attention was the radio. The last time I was in town, it had been bad reception, if any reception at all. Most of the time it was just static, unless you wanted to listen to the Enclave channel. Nobody wanted that.

This time the signal was fine. In fact, it was perfect. I listened for a while, Three Dog rambled about his 'good fight' and some kid from a Vault. Vault 101. My memory frizzed and sparkled a little as I tried to recall where I'd seen that Vault. I remembered passing by it with Eric, and he explained to me what it was, and that most of the Vaults today are abandoned. All except this one, Vault 101. The vague image of the number 101 showed itself to me, but I wasn't able to grab on to it and bring it to the surface. I've seen it somewhere else too, after Eric and I passed by the Vault.

Annoyed at myself and my memory, I finished my drink and nodded towards Gob, who came over like the good little lackey he is.

"One more?" he asked, careful with his voice, not looking straight into my eyes and bowing his head just slightly to show his submission. I felt sorry for him.

"Yes, please," I said, looking at him and trying to hypnotize his eyes to meet mine. It didn't work. It never did. He just nodded and went to fetch the bottle. When he came back and started to fill my glass with golden delight, I kept my gaze at him. "So," I began, hoping to keep his attention on me a little longer. "Who fixed your radio?"

Gob kept staring at my hand around my glass of whisky. The poor fucker really was subjugated. "No one," he answered. "The signal just came back, bright and clear, a couple of days ago."

"Really?"

"Yes. I think that Vault kid fixed the signal, cause Three Dog has been singing her praise ever since."

That was interesting. I leaned forward, still looking at the ghoul, whose eyes seemed to shimmer a little by the mention of this Vault kid. He had abandoned his interest in my hands, and raised his stare to my chest.

Very interesting indeed…

"Was she here? The Vault kid, did she pass through here?" I asked, and surprisingly, Gob's eyes lifted slowly from my chest until they eventually rested at my face. He met my eyes, and I could see that his face brightened a little.

"I'm not allowed to say," he whispered. "But yes, she did come through here. Looking for someone I believe. She spoke to Moriarty about it."

"Bad idea, I'm guessing."

Gob nodded, just barely visible. He was undeniably afraid of Moriarty, but this Vault girl seemed to have done an impression on him. Otherwise he'd never speak of this to anyone. "Moriarty made her run some errands," he said darkly.

"I'm sure he did." No surprises there then. Moriarty never gave up anything for free. It wasn't his style, and he'd be damned if anyone ever found out that he was more soft-hearted than he showed. His hatred towards Jericho was a living proof of that, but no one knew why he hated the old raider so much. No one but me.

"Gob!" the angry bark from the door to the back room stole everyone's attention. Moriarty stood there, staring angrily at his ghoul servant. "I don't pay you to laze around. Now get to work!" he marched over to where God and I was while he spoke, and as the angry Irishman he is, he finished his command with a hard slap to the back of the ghoul's head.

Gob hunched down to scurry away, picking up his broom in the same motion, and started to franticly sweep the floor clean of imaginary specs of dust. A barely audible "You don't pay me at all," escaped his lips. Luckily, Moriarty didn't hear him.

The Irishman looked at me apologetically. "You know, if there's something you want information about, you can always ask your good friend Moriarty here."

I laughed and sipped my whisky.

"Oh, I know you too well to do that, you old fox," I teased, earning a genuine smile in return. "Besides, it's not really important. Just plain curiosity, you know."

"I see. Well, don't hesitate to ask," he said still smiling, probably hoping that I'd be tempted by his generous offer.

I wasn't. Never was, and never will be.

Suddenly his smile vanished as he looked over my head towards the door behind me. Instinctively I turned around to look, and where Moriarty's smile had disappeared, mine widened into a speculative grin.

"Jericho," I purred and pulled out the stool right next to me. The old raider took my invite and sat down, clearly taken aback a little by my uncharacteristic greeting. "Let me buy you a drink," I said, and turned towards the barkeeper and his sour expression. "One more glass, and leave the bottle."

Moriarty complied wordlessly, and then removed himself from Jericho's presence. I turned towards my company, smiling while I filled up his glass. He grabbed it and downed the liquor in one shot, holding my gaze, before placing the glass back down. Without a word, I refilled it.

"What's up, kid?" Jericho asked suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just glad to see you, that's all. In fact, I was going to look for you later, but now that you're here I don't have to." My voice and face might seem overjoyed, but Jericho didn't buy it for a second. He knew I usually walked around him in wide circles to avoid any contact. He also knew damn well why.

The battered and retired old raider had more baggage in his past than most people did, and leaving it all behind was a bit more difficult than he probably anticipated when he settled in Megaton. Jenny Stahl knew that first hand, and so did I. Jericho had left the common house badly beaten after that incident, but that didn't stop him from being rude and make questionable proposals every time we met on the streets. I'm not afraid of him, but honestly, I got sick and tired of trying to verbally bite his head off every time we met. So, I fixed it by simply staying away from him. Easy enough, since I don't spend much time in Megaton in the first place. Now, however, he had something I wanted….

Jericho gulped down his next glass of whisky, and I could tell the drink was starting to affect him. I smiled a little and leaned towards him from the side.

"I wanted to ask you something. Seeing that you're far more experienced with the Wasteland than anyone I know…," I began. One look in his eyes told me that the flattery hit straight home. He straightened his back proudly.

"Yeah? What the fuck do you need?"

I looked at my hands around my glass, still contemplating if this was at all a good idea. The whole thing gave me a bad feeling. Still, I decided that it was worth a try.

"What I need, is directions on how to get safely through the DC ruins," I answered, and was rewarded by a choking burst of laughter from the old raider next to me. He actually spit his mouthful back into his glass and laughed out loud. The other people in the bar looked at us with surprise, and Moriarty shot a quick, disapproving glare.

To my utter humiliation, I actually blushed.

"Oh shit, I think I'm pissing my pants," Jericho laughed and hiccupped once. "How fucking stupid are you? There's no such thing as a 'safely' through the DC." He mimicked the words with a childish and sobbing grimace. I clenched my teeth in annoyance, regretting that I asked him in the first place.

"Well, as less dangerous as it gets then," I corrected, glaring hatefully at him. Jericho went serious and frowned.

"No, seriously. There's no such thing. The entire DC is packed with dangers, whether you travel through the Metro or on the streets. It doesn't fucking matter, you get it? What the fuck you want to go there for anyway?"

"I need to get to Rivet City," I sighted.

"Why?"

The bar was silent. It seemed that the rest of the people were eavesdropping on us, and I couldn't blame them. Jericho didn't exactly contain his mockery towards me and my stupidity.

"It's bigger. More people," I snapped. "I'm looking for some gun for hire, ok?"

Jericho's eyes narrowed slyly while measuring me from head to toe, and back again.

"Need a companion, is that it? I could be that man for you." The manner of his tone, his face and entire being switched into sleazebag-mode. I cocked one eyebrow at him.

"Not interested." He'd made too many vulgar gestures towards me in the past for me to even consider him as a travel companion. He disgusted me, in every way possible, and beyond.

"Didn't think so," he shrugged and helped himself to more whisky. "But if you're going through the DC, you should be well armored and loaded with ammo. Cause you'll need it."

"What can I expect of trouble?" I asked, and again he gave me a look like I was a fucking stupid imbecile child who knew nothing of anything.

Actually, I felt like one too… Not a highly appreciated feeling. I've never traveled into the city ruins before. After all, I actually like my skull where it is at the moment.

"Everything you'll find out here, kid. Only more of it. Much more of it. In confined spaces. You see? It's a freakin' suicide mission. If I liked you better, I'd advise against it".

"Wow, thanks."

"No, you don't fucking understand, kid. Mutants, hoards of them! You can travel underground where it'll be less big fucks, but then there are ghouls. Lots of ghouls underground, you see?"

The hairs on my back involuntarily stood up. In the background I could see Gob slowing down his sweeping, deeply concentrated in the floor. But I knew he listened. The way he bowed his head a little further and hunched his shoulders, it all gave it away.

Amazing how the first meeting can stick with someone for so long. The first time Gob and I met, I almost screamed my lungs out, calling for help while I pointed a kitchen knife towards him. I should be excused, and I am in some ways. My earlier experience with ghouls hadn't been pleasant. After all, I was used to being chased by them. Those hissing, mutated, walking corpses that chased you with dull eyes, foaming mouths hungry for flesh and sticky hands reached out, ready to grab you.

I groaned silently.

_Ghouls_.

They were frightening in more ways than their beasty nature. They frightened me to death because they used to be humans once. Humans like me. It was like a nightmarish glimpse into a possible future, a future I dreaded more than anything. If my skin starts to rot and fall off, I'm absolutely sure I will shoot my brains out.

Gob however, was nothing like that. He was a human in every way besides his appearance, at least almost. His flesh weren't sticky, he had some hair left, and his lips looked like they were mostly intact. We got over the first misunderstanding, after someone so kindly explained to me the difference between the feral ghouls and him. I like Gob now, but I know the memory of our first meeting is a sore spot for him. He is, after all, pretty touchy about the subject.

Making a mental note on ammo and armor, I turned towards Jericho again.

"Sounds like I'll need to restock and repair on the way. Are there any places where it's possible to find shelter in the DC? Any place at all?

"Well, yeah. Those Brotherhood fuckers are sometimes to be found. I know they're guarding the Galaxy News Radio station where Three Dog holds up. You could probably cry your way in there to rest for one night or two. And then there's Underworld. The Ghoul City." He looked at me with an anticipant glare.

"Ghoul City?" I swallowed. _Hard_. "Is it safe?"

"As safe as it gets in a city of ghouls," Jericho chuckled with an ironic grin. "Other than that, you might get lucky and run into some traders here and there. They sometimes trek through the ruins."

"Ooookeey, then." I finished my drink and left some caps on the table. "I think I need to vomit. Excuse me for a second, will you." Dizzy and nauseous, I got up from my stool and headed for the exit. Air, I needed air on my face. During Jericho's talk about DC I had been drinking vigorously.

I stumbled out of the saloon, welcoming the cold night air on my skin and inhaled deeply. It was probably the worst idea I've ever had. The most stupid, silly and suicidal thing I've ever done. But I would do it. I would, and I had to. Now that I had talked with Jericho about it, in front of everyone in the bar, it would be worse if I didn't go through with it. Jericho would humiliate me for chickening out, and no one in Megaton would ever respect me again.

•

"Does it fit you well enough?"

I stretched my arms, hunched down and back up, twisted my body and flexed. The armor suited me perfectly, and I don't know why Moira even bothered to ask. Maybe she just needed the acknowledgement that she'd done a good job.

"Yeah, this will be perfect. I'll be well protected without losing any mobility. Thank you."

The redhead's eyes shone with pride over her work, and I had to give it to her; she had skills. I bought myself new weapons and a lot of ammo. Moira offered to spruce up the guns before I left, and I was glad that she even offered to do it for free. I'd spent every single cap on this one shopping spree.

While she finished her work, I sat down and waited. She's a gullible and naïve creature, but Moira is actually awesome in some ways. Her curiosity and ability to learn is stunning, and it's made her an expert in certain fields. Sadly, she don't understand much, if anything at all, about the wasteland and its dangers. I've nearly killed her for it once. Don't know what she did, or what she was thinking, but she sold me some 'experimental' hand grenades once. The experiment was to shorten the time it took for them to explode, apparently, cause as a result I nearly got my arm blown off. I remember how angry I was, lying in the hospital bed yelling death-treats and cursing her as far into hell as one could possibly get, while Doc Church desperately tried to save my arm. Moira was horrified and basically came crawling back a few days later, begging for forgiveness.

We're on the same page now.

My eyes aimlessly wandered around in her workshop while I sat there and went over my mental map of my route through the city ruins. I had a map with me, just in case, but if something were to happen and I lost all my equipment again, I needed at least to have some idea of where I was. Being lost in the ruins didn't appeal to me that much.

I looked at the wall in the back of the room, and suddenly the memory slammed into place. "Moira? Didn't you have a suit hanging back there before?"

"What?" she turned around from her work and followed my stare. "Oh! Yeah, the Vault suit."

"Where is it now? It was a Vault 101 suit, right?"

"That's right, it was. I gave it away," she responded nonchalantly and returned to her work.

"You _gave_ it away?" I stared at her, probably gaping. No traders would ever just give away stuff. Apparently, she'd gone even more unhinged since the last time I saw her.

"To that Vault girl, of course! She's from the same Vault, didn't you know?" Her was strangely happy and carefree. I scowled at the back of her head and thought about something harsh to say, but fortunately, she turned around with a big smile and my weapons on outstretched arms.

"There you go! Fresh and new. Well…. Almost.. heh…"

"You didn't tinker with it, did you?" I felt a little skeptical when I took my weapons out of her hands. She may have learned her lesson, but one could never be too careful.

"Course not!" she reassured me, seemingly hurt by my suspicious tone. It was quickly forgotten though. Moira has the ability to concentrate on the same level as a squirrel, and suddenly her face lit up like a child on Christmas Eve. "Oh," You know what? I don't have to pester you anymore about my research for the Survival Guide. I found someone to do it for me!"

"Wha…?" I stared at her blankly. This crazy redhead has been bugging me for a very long time about some book she wanted to write, on how to survive out in the Wasteland. Jericho had refused, and eventually so had I. But only after I had, foolishly, agreed to help her a little. As a reward, I got to practice my landmine disabling skills, not to mention the crippled limb when a car blew up right next to me. There was a sniper on the roof across town, and he made my mission pretty damn difficult. In the end, he saved my day though… After I killed him and took ownership of his sniper rifle. It was almost worth it.. Almost….

"Who could possibly be stupid enough to do your research?" I asked, curios about the person who could be persuaded by someone as soft-headed as Moira.

"Well, the vault girl of course!" she answered, ignoring or not hearing my sarcasm. I looked at her, imagining the Vault girl as some childish little doll with big innocent eyes, nodding repetitively and puppet-like in agreement to Moira's rant about 'helping people'.

Priceless.

My insides bubbled and itched, the corners of my mouth twisted and my throat expanded. I had to leave. Now! With a hasty goodbye, I left the Craterside Supply. Once outside, the bubble burst and I doubled over, laughing. I laughed, and laughed. It felt as if someone tickled my insides and I kept laughing until my eyes watered. It was hilarious, ridiculous and absolutely idiotic. And yet, there was actually someone out there in this world who agreed to go through with these things. I kept laughing while I tried to stand straight, but it only made me sway and fall the other way. My feet couldn't carry me, and I decided to stay on the ground until the laughter settled.

I was still chuckling to myself when I headed for the gates, ready to leave. Everything I had of value was now spent, and everything I had on me would hopefully keep me alive long enough to walk away from battle as the victorious one.

"Hey, wait!"

I paused and waited for Gob to catch up with me. He came running up the hill from the center of town, and he obviously had something important to discuss.

"What's the hurry?" I asked when he finally reached me. He was panting hard to catch his breath. Working in a Saloon weren't good for your health, obviously. Or maybe it was the ghoulification that had messed up his lungs. I'm guessing both. He inhaled deeply and grabbed my hands. I tried not to twitch, honestly I did, but I probably didn't do a very good job. He let go if me instantly.

"Please. If you go to Underworld, if you make it there and decide to go inside. Please, can you give Carol a message from me? If she's still alive and if she's well. Can you please.. just tell her that I'm ok, and that I miss her very much." He looked desperate, begging almost.

"Gob, I don't think I'll be going…..,"

He cut me off, shaking his head but still pleading. "I know. I won't make you. But_ if_ you decide to go anyway…."

This time, I took his hands in mine and tried to sound reassuring. "If I go there, Gob, I swear I'll look for Carol. Ok?"

"Thank you, thank you!"

"I have to leave now. And shouldn't you be working? Moriarty might get mad."

"I don't care" the poor ghoul shook his head. "He beats me anyways, and as long as I can get a message through to Carol, it'll be worth it."

I left Megaton with a small lump in my throat and felt like I was venturing into Hell.


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own Fallout or anything related to it! My OC is my creation, that's all.**

* * *

I'd travelled for a couple of days, mostly underground through the Metro tunnels. At first I didn't think it was all too bad, encountering only a few raiders here and there and some ghouls scattered around. They proved to be no match at as I crept towards them an assassinated them with my Chinese assault rifle.

I didn't want to sleep in the tunnels though, so every night I headed up to the streets to see if there was any proper locations to camp. The first night I was lucky and climbed up in one of the ruined old buildings. There, I found a part of the building that covered me from the road and sheltered me with some roof. It was an easily defendable location, and I market it on my map for later use.

The next night I ran back into the Metro almost immediately, ducking away from bullets and the swing of a nail board aiming for my head. Surprisingly, the Mutants didn't follow me down, and after I boarded the door to one of the toilets, I felt safe enough inside to rest a couple of hours. Not that I slept any good though. It was a stinky and soggy toilet, and knowing that there was Mutants stomping around just a few feet over my head, I slept with one hand at my Shotgun and with a knife in the other.

The third day I was forced to leave the Metro. The tunnels had collapsed and blocked my way forward. It was both a relief and terrifying to leave. The Metro was smaller and it was easier to gain control of my surroundings. If I actually could see my surroundings, that is. When suddenly I found myself hunched down behind a car wreck next to a block of ruined concrete, with Mutants ahead, I didn't feel like I had any control at all.

I slammed my assault rifle on the hood of the car and fired a few rounds, aiming for the Mutant headed towards me with his sledgehammer raised above him, ready to give me a killing blow. Aiming at one of his hands I fired several shots. It had the effect I hoped for. The Mutant lost his grip on his weapon, and in the confusion he gave me just about enough time to start dealing shots at his skull.

These bastards were so thick-headed that it took some time to get through. I nearly peeled off his face before he finally gargled and fell over dead.

My eyes didn't have time to study him, as I fixated them back to the other three mutants. They carried guns. I saw a hunting rifle and a minigun, and the last one…. My heart leapt and so did my body. Instantly I threw myself away from the car and into the concrete ruins. I pushed myself between some fallen down walls and were able to crouch and cover my head the same moment the missile hit its target; the car. It exploded with an intensity that shook the ground and made the building next to me cringe in protest. My heart pounded ferociously from the impact and my ears were ringing.

"Holy hell…" I gasped and crawled towards an opening further away. I had to move, better no stay in one place too long unless I wanted to be exploded into tiny bits and pieces.

When I came to the opening, I could hear the mutants talking, yelling for me to come out. Carefully I took a peek, and withdrew quickly. It was enough, now I knew where they were. Counting my bullets I started to wonder if I could take them out. It would be a shame to survive this, having killed these mutants, only to meet four new ones in the next crossroad. Unless, I stole that missile launcher…

I peeked around the wall one more time.

It could work. Maybe…

Without even looking again, I tore out the splinter of a grenade and threw it towards the mutants, and in the same motion, I rolled over with my assault rifle ready. Lying flat on the ground, I was aiming directly at them and started to fire the same moment the grenade went off. The blast that would have thrown a normal opponent back nearly affected them as much as I hoped for. They were only confused for a second, but that one precious second was enough for me. I had already fired a couple of crucial headshots.

They came running and started to respond with fire. I aimed for the Brute with the Missile Launcher, desperately trying to kill him before he was able to fire another missile in my direction. It felt like forever, and the others came closer. One bullet dug itself into my shoulder and another missed my head by an inch. I didn't have the time to react. The Brute stumbled and his helmet came off. Hastily I rolled into cover to reload, and then I rolled back again.

I kept shooting bullets at the Brute, who was now loading another missile into his Launcher. I could tell that he was injured though, and this made me stay right in that spot. He fell right before he was able to fire his weapon. I would've sighted in relief, but I still had two others to take care of. Rolling to safety I loaded my shotgun. They had gotten close.

I was finally able to walk away with tree bullets in my body, but a Missile Launcher and lots of ammo richer. It felt good to have taken them down by myself. I gathered my stuff with some difficulties, and headed for a place to heal my wounds. Hopefully not too far away.

Running through some ruined buildings, I noticed that there was many dead Mutants lying around. I wondered who had done this, and after a careful examination on one of the Mutants I realized that it had to be the Brotherhood. Most of the wounds weren't holes from bullets. They were burnt.

"From Laser Rifles," I mumbled to myself while I crouched over a Mutant Brute. The Brotherhood used Laser weaponry and Power Armor. They collected and nurtured technology, and that was supposedly their main purpose here in DC. However, some rumors said that they also cared about the people in the area and did a remarkable job in the war against the Mutants to take back the city. I frowned to myself and kept going, hauling my Missile Launcher along.

I couldn't help but wonder if the Brotherhood might have some hidden intentions in saving DC from Mutants. Was there something in particular they wanted, or could it really be genuinely goodwill. I doubted it, as I am no believer of do-gooders. No, I had to be something they wanted, or needed.

Deep in thought, I wandered through and between the destroyed buildings and Mutant corpses, until I rounded a corner and froze.

My jaw fell slack.

The monster was huge, enormous, ugly and terrifyingly deformed. It had the looks of some beast I'd only heard about. It had to be 20 feet tall, and its arms were armored with fucking car doors!

And it was dead.

Lying in the middle of a plaza, it looked to be dead. Blood had poured out of its nose, and there was several wounds in its flesh. The wounds looked like scratch marks on the enormous body, and I wondered what could possibly have killed it. Looking across the plaza, I noticed heavily armored people around the entrance of the building opposite of me, and by the looks of how they stepped down the staircase, alerted and guns held up, they had also spotted _me_.

I had found the GNR Building…

"Hold it right there!" Five sets of Laser guns were pointed at me. "State your business!" one of the Brotherhood men cried out. His voice had a metallic echo through the speaker of his helmet. I lowered the Missile Launcher from my shoulders and placed it on the ground, before showing them my empty hands.

"Just passing through," I cried back, my voice was a little hoarse and my throat felt dry. Also, the bullet holes had started to drain my strength. "I wondered if you'd let me rest a few hours, and then I'll be on my way."

One of the men, the one who had talked, waved his hand up for me to come closer. I picked up my ML and walked towards them, carefully sidestepping away of the dead Behemoth. Without lowering their guns or taking the aim off me, they gave me enough space to climb the stairs. When I'd finally reached the top, the man spoke again.

"You can stay a few hours, but you'll have to leave your weapons out here."

Reluctantly, I clutched my newly rewarded ML closer. "Why?"

"Can't risk you shooting up the place, now can we? The deal is clear, you go inside, your weapons stay here." He pointed towards a Gun Locker behind their barricade of sandbags.

I knew I couldn't go any further without tending to my wounds. I also knew that I could probably find somewhere else to rest if I just kept looking, but it was beginning to dusk and I didn't feel like dating any more Mutants today. Especially not in the dark. With a sigh, I unarmed myself and placed my belongings in the locker. The Brotherhood men finally lowered their own weapons.

"Do you have a medic inside?" I asked and waited for the door to unlock.

"No, but you could ask one of the Initiates inside to give you a hand."

The GNR building wasn't that interesting, I concluded after looking around a little. I'd patched myself up to the best of my abilities. The bullets hadn't hit anything important and seemed like simple flesh-wounds in comparison to what I'd received before. I guess I should be grateful that the Mutants weren't particularly good shooters. Truth is, really good shooters is something rare and uncommon in general. Mostly, people just fire randomly in the desired direction, hoping that at least _some_ bullets will hit the target. Mutants are no different. It's a simple style, but none the less very effective.

My meeting with this Three Dog person had been more confusing than clarifying. He was annoyingly confident about his own importance in this world, and he kept praising and praising this vault girl that had passed through here. Again, I couldn't believe my ears when I heard that she'd helped him out by fixing that satellite dish. Sitting on the ground on the first floor, eating my can of soup and occasionally glaring towards the Brotherhood men, I couldn't keep myself from wondering who this vault girl was, and why she helped out everyone she met. It had to be something important she needed. When I'd asked the DJ about it, he just smiled and went back to his normal 'Good Fight' rant.

I grunted while I ate. He'd even tried to talk me into joining. Yeah, _right_.

After I'd eaten, I tried to make myself comfortable on the makeshift bed that I'd made on the floor. I loosely listened to the Brotherhood men talking amongst themselves, and the radio in the background, before I found myself drift off into sleep. I welcomed it, knowing that I could sleep a little safer in this place than I'd been able to the last couple of nights. Still, safe or not, every sound they made my eyes snap open, if only for a second.

•

I hunched down, carefully measuring my footsteps as silently as possible while I crept forward. The duffle-bag was just lying there, and even though the site seemed abandoned, I couldn't take any risks. I'd watched the place from a distance for a couple of hours, and no one had been there during that time. It had to be abandoned. If so, it would be a shame to just leave the duffle-bag and it's potentially valuables behind, right? Even though I was very careful with my steps, the darkness hid some empty bottles from my vision. My left leg bumped into one, causing it to roll away a couple of feet and then fall down to the tracks. Startled, I froze. In comparison to the silence in the tunnel, the rattling bottle sounded like thunder, and I listened closely for signs that someone had heard it. My eyes scanned my surroundings, but the darkness made it difficult to make out anything. The shadows played tricks on me, I knew that. It looked like something was moving, but it could be just my imagination. I waited for a long time, listening for footsteps, the wheezing sound of ghouls, dogs, anything, but heard nothing.

A little more confident, I started to move again, slowly sneaking towards the bag. Stretching out my arm and grabbing one of the hems, I pulled it towards me.

It was heavy, but someone must've packed it with care, because nothing inside it rattled or made any noise at all when I lifted it up and secured the shoulder-strap around me. With a quick look around me, I made it towards the escalators. Didn't want to stay in this place while I searched the bag. The owners might return. Walking as silently as possible, I made it up the escalators and headed for the station exit. My heart was rushing out of mere excitement, and I smiled a little triumphantly to myself. All too soon, I realized, and paled when my over-confidence had made my feet yet again hit something that tumbled around and made echoing noises in the concrete hall. This time an empty can.

From behind me downstairs, I could make out the distinct sound of running feet. Heavy, running feet! They made metallic sound as they climbed the escalators, and with a shock I could hear that this person probably took three steps at the time. The exit was too far away for me to reach it, and without hesitation, I quickly and as silently as possible slipped through an open door on my right, only to find myself in a bathroom. Pushing the door shut until nearly closing it, I backed away slowly, pulling my shotgun out and aiming it towards the door.. I could hear the running feet come closer, and then slow down into a walking motion.

It was almost pitch dark in the bathroom, and I didn't dare to move around too much. After all, I had no idea what might be lying across the floor.

The walking outside halted and I held my breath. For a moment, it seemed like we were listening for each other, I could hear my own heart pound in my ribcage like a prisoner, and for a brief second fear struck me. Maybe he heard it too?!

When the feet resumed walking, away from the door, relief washed over me and I exhaled. I heard them venture further towards the exit, and eventually the sound of a tunnel door opening and then closing. Waiting a little longer, just to be sure, I carefully moved towards the door. I knew I couldn't go out the same exit at my follower had. I needed to find another way, maybe through the exit opposite of this one.

Opening the door wide and stepping away from it, I held my shotgun ready. Nothing. Not a sound, no movement. Nothing. Still, I walked through the door with my aim positioned towards the tunnel exit, in case it was a trap. Relieved that it was empty, I holstered my weapon and jogged away, towards the other exit, this time in a hurry. Unless my follower was a complete idiot, he or she (I was guessing it had to be a 'he', from the sound of the heavy feet) would soon realize that I hadn't gone that way, and then eventually he'd come back to look for me here. I hurried across the second floor of the station and into the parallel corridor. The exit sign blinked in a promising way, and without hesitation, I opened the barred gate and door.

_Chun- Chung!_

A two-barrel shotgun was cocked and aimed straight at my forehead. I stopped, staring at it like a hypothesized child. My eyes followed the barrels, _upwards_. They seemed to go on forever. Either that or my brain went into slow-motion mode. I was unaware that my mouth hung open in shock. My eyes traced the barrels and finally found the weapons master. I squinted to focus, cursing myself for running from pitch darkness and out into daylight like that. The weapon belonged to someone big. Someone really fucking huge! He was wearing a hat, and when my eyes finally adjusted to the light, his face came into vision.

Instinctively, I scrambled backwards, only to have myself glued against the metro tunnel gate. The man, no correction; the fucking ghoul beast of a man, followed my motion by stepping closer slightly.

He stared me down, anger practically glowing off him. Even though my heart was racing and fear desperately tried to overpower me, I glared back at him.

"Thief," he accused, growling, still holding his shotgun ready to blast me into space. It was a rough and definitely ghoul voice, the growling tone to it emphasized by the fact that he was clenching his teeth. His eyes had a yellow tint to them, like amber, and they were narrowed towards me. He was… frightening…

"No! No, not thief," I bit back. My voice sounded strangely calm and smooth. I held my hands upwards in defeat, but I kept staring at him like a stubborn child.

"My bag," his eyes trailed towards the strap around my shoulder before returning to my face and entire stance once more. "Give it back." It was a demand, not a question. He was even able to hold the shotgun in one hand, while he reached out the other towards me, expecting me to hand over the bag I'd just picked up. Anger fueled me.

"I didn't steal it! It had been lying there for hours. If you cared about it, why leave it behind?"

"None of your business. I'm back now, and I want my bag."

The seconds ticked by. I didn't move, and neither did he. It was a staring competition, and none of us was willing to back down, both waiting for the other to make a move. I measured the distance between his shotgun and me. If I stepped forward just a little, I could reach it and pull it from his grasp, or just simply turn its aim away from me. How the scenery would play out if I did, however, I had no idea. It didn't look like it would end in my favor either way. His mere size hinted to a kind of physical strength I'd never be able to match.

Have I mentioned that I prefer living?

I swallowed. "Finder's fee?"

He didn't respond. I didn't really expect him to either. The joke wasn't funny. He simply motioned with his fingers on the outstretched hand to hand the bag over. His head was tilted with his chin slightly downwards so that his hat shadowed his eyes from the sun. It also gave him a menacing, glaring look. His leather armor was of the expensive kind and his shotgun well kept. He couldn't possibly be a common roamer.

The weight of the duffle bag intensified on my shoulder. Its content could be equally valuable, if this ghoul's appearance was any indicator.

"I _will_ take it back," he threatened, clearly losing his patience. "Whether It'll be from your corpse or not, is up to you."

Sighing with a sniff, in a mixture of obstinacy and defeat, I finally moved one of my raised hands to the strap that held the bag in place, and quickly opened the mechanism. If fell with a heavy thump to the ground. The ghoul's eyes flickered towards it, before they quickly settled back to my face. I hadn't removed my gaze from him for one second.

Bending his knees and reaching forward to grab his bag, he didn't remove the shotgun or took his eyes off me. Once he had pulled the bag to him, he rose back to his full height and gave me a tiny nod. I couldn't tell if it was a nod of appreciation or a nod of approval that we were on the same page.

He spoke while he stepped away, still aiming at me, with his bag in his free hand. "Don't cross me again. _Ever_."

I had no desire to respond, but understood the threat perfectly well; I was lucky to be alive. Watching him leave, I finally lowered my hands and pulled out my Chinese assault rifle, slipped back inside the Metro tunnel, where I took a moment to gather myself from shaking.

"Ghouls…." My voice was merely a breathy whisper.


End file.
